Wednesday, July 29, 2015

I remember my childhood summers fondly. Days in which I
would leave the house after a still sleepy, leisurely breakfast of cereal that
I made myself and come home only for lunch in the middle of a day spent
entirely outdoors. We did not live in town and, thus, playmates were limited to
siblings and the cousins who lived down the road. Our backyard became the
playground in which our imaginations would run wild- turning those few acres
into magical forests, the tiny creek into a raging river and our trusty dog,
Rex, played the many roles of horse, monster and any other creature that we
children did not want to play. By the dreaded end of the three months of summer
break we were tan from our hours in the sun, full of the memories of a thousand
magical moments and bonded to our siblings in a way that winter’s forced
hibernation never seemed to connect us.

Today, I live on the same acreage that I did as a child. My
children have the blessing of having the same grassy patches to scratch their
bare feet as they run through it, the same creek to stomp through and catch
tadpoles, and not the same dog, but their very own energetic pup to imagine
away the days with.

However this is not the same world as twenty, thirty years
ago. There are screens everywhere in the house to demand attention- televisions
with hundreds of channels, computers with access to a thousand entertaining
sites, tablets stocked with apps. There is also no longer the expectation of a
stretch of an unscheduled three months. Their school friends tell competitive
stories of elaborate vacations, spending time weekly traveling to all of the
local attractions- various parks, the zoo, the science center, all the festivals,
which come breezing through town. On the very first day of school they will be
asked to list their favorite activities of the summer and no longer are the
lists filled with things like finding old barn wood to make a bridge over a
creek or a day spent in imaginative play with their siblings.

Our children have become used to being entertained every
minute. In our house, we have limits on electronics and kick the kids outside
on a nice day just as our parents did before us. Yet, the new cry of childhood
seems to be “I’m bored”, which is certainly not a new childhood expression but
now has seemed to have morphed to not really just mean “I’m bored”, but “Please
find something to entertain me, as I no longer can entertain myself even for a short period of time”.

We have made a choice in this household to do what is no
longer expected of children in many households. We refuse to spend our days
scheduling our children’s every hour. There will be many days with no plans at
all, when they will be sent outside with only the grass and the trees and their
own imaginations to entertain them.

The screens will be turned off and our children will find
that times of quiet can be just as entertaining, or even more so, than brightly
colored graphics and cloying music leaping off of a screen. They will bond with
their brother and sister, making memories that they will replay in their minds
well into adulthood. Even though sunscreen will be religiously applied, they
will leave summer with a glow on their skin, which will also sport the bruises
that scrapes that come from climbing trees, stomping through creeks and chasing
the dog the field.

This summer I will be giving my children the greatest gift
of all- boredom. For inside boredom is the gift of getting to know your own
mind, of finding solace and joy in nature and in the realization that the
greatest gifts are experiences, not things. And, maybe- just maybe, on that
first day of school list my children will write at the very top of the list one
of the simple joys found in a summer’s day spend outdoors, no screen in site.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

If you are a mother of a young child, you likely keep a
stash of band-aids handy. Children who are just learning to walk and navigate
the world have a way of consistently injuring themselves and finding themselves
in need of a mother’s kiss and a band aid.

My children are getting older and I am finding them less in
need of my magical kisses, but still in frequent need of band aids, colored with brightly cheerful cartoon characters for my younger children and the staid, practical flesh colored sort for my oldest son. I marvel at
the simple impact of placing a bandage atop a scrape or other injury and
find that it often quickly quiets the sniffles and complaints. As a mother and a nurse, I
find myself keeping little stashes of band aids everywhere- in the car, in the
kitchen and in my purse. They are at
hand everywhere that we may go.

I recently tripped in my driveway and fell quite hard, hard
enough in fact to scrape the entirety of my forearms, both knees and an ankle and covering a good section of the concrete in my own blood. It was terribly
uncomfortable and I admit that I found myself fighting back tears as I washed out the wounds.
My husband and all three of my children were home, but no one apparently had heard my gaffe in
the driveway(somehow I always hear or see their falls and scrapes and injuries and they never hear or see mine!) and I was alone in the bathroom, bathing my scrapes and attempting to bandage some awkward areas without having help. I found
myself feeling a bit lonely and wondering why no one seemed to care or acknowledge when I was
hurt.

Just as those
sorry thoughts appeared in my head my youngest daughter, 6 year-old Emory, appeared
next me. Her face was aghast as she took in my injuries and placed her hand on
my arm. She didn’t say a word- simply standing next to me and looking at me as though
she would take away my discomfort in an instant. I could feel the pain seeping
out of me suddenly, as if by magic. And, it made me remember that the magic of motherhood was
never about the kisses or the band-aids in the first place. I wonder if maybe the magic is in the
presence of another human being who is willing to stand beside you and bear
your pain as if it were their own. If the magic in is the soft cadence of their
voice soothing your weary soul. If the magic is in knowing that you don’t have to
face this moment of pain alone.

As adults, we tend to hold each other to the unspoken
tenants of adulthood- courage, managing your own problems without complaint,
responsibility. But, maybe- as adults and as children- each of us needs moments
where we can drop our problems messily upon the floor for all to see, bear our
injuries- both physical and emotional- boldly outward and have someone, anyone, just be present with us and bear that moment of pain. That simple presence is
an emotional tourniquet, the likes of which will never be trumped by a piece of
plastic and cloth.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

I am a voracious reader. There is rarely a day that passes
without my nose being deeply imbedded within the pages of a book. I have loved
many novels, some so strongly that I cannot bear to hear ill words spoken about
the work or it’s author.I know that I
am not alone in my abiding love of “To Kill a Mockingbird”, the novel oft
described as “the greatest novel of our time”, written by the reclusive Harper
Lee. I have a dog-eared copy of the novel that I has been read so many times
that the edges of the pages are now soft with use. The characters in the novel
are so familiar to me that they seem like friends or family members that might
some day jump off of the pages to join me for dinner.

So, when the news broke earlier this year that a novel
written by Harper Lee had been unearthed and would soon be published, I
literally jumped for joy. I scoured the internet for details and became even
more excited as I learned that this upcoming novel had been written even before
“To Kill a Mockingbird” and was full of the very same characters, a novel
written about Scout(who now goes by her given name, Jean Louis) as an adult
visiting her hometown after a time away. I knew at that moment that I would be
pre-ordering a copy and standing in my local bookstore on the date of release
in order to read the freshly minted pages as soon as possible.

After reading such reviews and a reading of the first chapter, many of my
bookish friends have decided to forgo reading the new novel altogether and I can
understand that decision. Atticus Finch is, perhaps, one of the most loved
characters in literary history and I can deeply understand a longing to not
have that character in any way tarnished.

In spite of these concerns, I have decided to keep my
pre-order and to read the novel, primarily because my curiosity about the novel
outweighs my fear that it may tarnish my ideas of these beloved characters. The
response of the literary world to the newly published novel does leave me
asking myself more questions about the book, however. I find myself wondering
if there was any way for this novel, with the same or different characters, to
truly be loved by readers in the way that the original is, even if the new
novel had contained a completely different set of characters. “To Kill a Mockingbird” is a nostalgic,
beloved piece of literary history and I feel very strongly that no other novel
written by Harper Lee, no matter how wonderful, could ever live up to more than
50 years of readership and a passing on of what has become more than just a
book, but a vessel into the lives of beloved characters that seem to have
become a part of our very lives. I feel as though there could never be any sort
of novel that could ever live up to the hype and expectation that this upcoming
novel has spinning around it and it seems like a losing proposition all around.

No matter the discussions surrounding the novel, I will be
in line on Tuesday, July 14th with my fellow book lovers and will
rush home to read the pages and, hopefully, lose myself inside the novel and
forget about my own life for a few hours. I will remind myself repeatedly that
the two novels were never meant as sequels and should be taken as two
completely separate works, even if the pages are filled with the very same
characters. I know even before reading “To Set a Watchman” that it will not be
as treasured by me as“To Kill a
Mockingbird”. I also know that there is
nothing within this new novel that could, in any way, take away any of my love
for “To Kill a Mockingbird”, as it will live inside my heart forever. This is
what we must remember as we open the pages of Harper Lee’s newest published
work- that nothing inside these pages can in any way diminish the light that
she brought into the world when “To Kill
a Mockingbird” first hit the shelves.